I am going to put the fun back into fundamentalism.

Regular readers of oneplanetmikey will be aware of my ongoing Scarlet O'Hara issues. You know, those terrible existential questions of ‘where shall I go, what shall I do'? Well finally, I have the answer.

I am going to join the Hillsong Church.

It is a perfect plan. There is a men's group where I can meet my husband. The church-goers share an intense sense of community. And finally and most importantly; there is singing and dancing.

The singing and dancing is what sealed my decision for me to put the fun back into fundamentalism.

This is because I am an excellent lounge-room Sinatra and no-one can sing Sugartown quite like me. With that said, I just know the boys of Hillsong will love my tunefulness and sunny presentation skills. They boys are also going to love my incredibly groovy dancing which was perfected atop many a dancefloor podium while pilled-up to the eyeballs. (Please note that when dancing that I do keep my shirt on. I may be a trahbag but I still have some decency and propriety left).

So all I need to do next Sunday is go straight (ain't that the truth) from club to church, and sing sweet Jesus. After all, coming home with the Lord would have to beat coming home with some of the mange-ridden mutts I have picked up at the Peel.

On a Hillsong Desolate.  Or why I want to be Morrissey.

Well, the Hillsong Church thing didn't work. I sort of had a few health issues when I woke on Sunday. There was this awful feeling of illness and dehydration, accompanied by projectile vomiting and a reasonably nasty headache, which may or may not have been a migraine.

Lord knows what brought on that sudden illness, because I was fine when I stumbled into bed and passed out at 3am Sunday.

Anyhoo, now that I realise organised religion aint for me, I still need to do something about my ongoing and endless Scarlet O'Hara questions. You know; "where shall I go, what shall I do?"

I think the first question can only be answered after the second is, and I done answered that one while walking to work this morning. What am I going to do? I am going to be Australia's first professional Morrissey impersonator. It is a bit like impersonating Elvis, but Mozza ain't dead and I'll have daffodils poking out of my arse while singing about charming men, and hillsides desolate.

I came to this conclusion after spending several hours over the weekend listening to Manchester's greatest band, The Smiths.   I have long admired Marr and Morrissey as one of the finest and funniest musical partnerships ever. And now this hilarity will continue as I sing "There is a Light that Never Goes Out" at weddings, warble "Some Girls are Bigger than Others" at Fernwood Fitness Centres and croon "Still Ill" at hospices and infirmaries.

For me, the saddest thing about The Smiths was how soon it was all over. Five years, four studio albums, two compilations, one live album, several wonderful coverstars and me......the boy with the thorn in his side.

Just be glad dear reader that I don't write bloody awful poetry.

Visited by a vision splendid.

I was so very excited about my new-found career as Australia's first professional Morrissey impersonator that yesterday I left work early so I could buy some Daffodils and practice my singing at home. Slight problem though, once I got home I realised can't fucken sing. Well, I can a little bit, but I sound more like a drag queen with an electronic larynx than the divine Mr M.

My unfortunate discovery that I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket even if it hd handles caused me to reach for the bottle, which was fine because I ended up being quite happy in the haze of a drunken hour.

Anyway it was rather fortuitous that soon after opening the second bottle, my good friend Kennel Cough* called and asked me to go to the Neighbours trivia night at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow in St Kilda. She has a thing for backpackers and has spent many a night there, often ending up under the table.  I duly gargled some Listerine and sprayed Brut on my pulse points as I ran out the door and walked to the bus stop.

I had a great night, but unfortunately for my partner in crime her luck was out and the only offer she received was a promise from a spotty Kiwi that he would be a great root while once he sobered up and wiped the vomit from his shoes. Dejected, Kennel Cough retired and left me to my own devices because she had an early morning meeting with her probation officer. I was going to follow her out, but soon saw that a man had left his gin and tonic on top of the cigarette machine, and knowing as I do that a free drink is a free drink, and free booze is the best tasting booze ever, I stayed for anothery. It became four. And when I fell on the floor ......I drank more.

It was then I ralised that I had been visited by a vision splendid, a hunk of spunk named Toadfish Rebecchi. Yes, yes he of Neighbours fame and method acting ability. Soon we were gripped in intimate embrace as we danced the light fantastic to Aga Do, by Black Lace. I really do think I am in love. Again!

This morning with a smile on my dial and with a date for tonight already lined up, I am remembering the words of my mother, who told me as a small boy; "Michael, just remember you can marry more money in five minutes than you can make in your entire life."

I'll let you know what happens as soon as it happens.

* Name changed to protect the reputation of a trashbag who works at the Australian Tax Office.

It wasn't Toadie, but a real life toad.

Obviously my search for meaning has hit a few snags because by the time I arrived home from work yesterday and started coming down, I realised that not everything which I believe happened on Monday night, actually happened. If I have misled any of my readers; then I sincerely apologise.First up, after security at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow asked me to leave for allegedly stealing drinks, I decided I would make the short stroll home from St Kilda to Thornbury. Unfortunately, I must have been quite tiddly as the attempted the 20 kilometre walk in my new Jimmy Choo's, not realising that I already had blisters from when I crawled up Hoddle Street the Saturday night before.

Anyhoo, this is where my problems started as I had to sit down and rest my blistered and aching feet. While sitting, I now believe that I mistook flashing traffic lights for disco lights.

As for the vision splendid which appeared on the dancefloor in the form of Toadfish from Neighbours - I now believe that was an hallucinogenic toad I met while actually resting and handjiving at the lights on Hoddle Street. (I do hope that this explains some of my ongoing problems with perception and reality). Please note that despite my vision splendid being a toad, I am not too upset as this toad was nicer and a better conversationalist than the last toad I picked up.

We did have a nice time, however I am slightly embarrassed about being a trashbag on a Monday night. As such, I have decided clean up my act and attend a twelve step programme.   Because I find the idea of any organised group therapy horrendously ghastly, I will tonight institute an informal get together for bad people over drinks and spliffs at my place.  

Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous will take anyone. You do not have to be sober or pious to join and we will not make you apologise as part of the healing process. It will be an informal and supportive group for people with dependence problems.

If you are coming tonight, please bring your own drugs as sharing is good and we don't want to run out.

I seem to have founded my own cult.

It really is quite weird how life turns out. Just last week I was going to attend the Hillsong Church as part of my search for meaning. Today I find myself elected the benevolent leader of the democratic cult of Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous. I had never really fancied myself as a David Koresh type character; more of a wonder-man like Kim Il Sung or Ho Chi Min.Anyway, there I was last night, at home with my real and imaginary friends hosting the first meeting of TNSA, when my dear friend Horse Flu, suggested that the mystical ways of the Trashbag should be celebrated, and that we should continue to celebrate and I was the one to lead people further into temptation.

Reluctantly I agreed, on the proviso that all members of Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous, participate in my wondrous new ten percent plus GST tithing scheme.
All agreed, and I am now democratically benevolent.

If there is anything to be learned from my adventures over the past few days it is that the power is within.